


Across the River Isen

by funkytoes



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Rohan, dundlending, people who don't like negative pov's of rohan probably won't like this story but, the main pov character is a dunlending girl so...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funkytoes/pseuds/funkytoes
Summary: When a Dunlending girl is captured by Prince Elfwine of Rohan and brought to Helm's Deep for trial for theft, events are sprung into action that will spell change across the lands.A Star Crossed Lovers kind of story.
Relationships: Elfwine (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Éomer Éadig/Lothíriel, Éowyn/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

She sank low to the ground, pressing her ear against the soft earth. Slow, erratic _thumps_ could be lightly felt against her cheek and the side of her head. “They’re close,” she said, springing to her feet, grabbing her bow from the ground and slinging it over her shoulder. She picked up her spear and the sack of grain. “I say we have less than two notches west before they catch us.”

Her companions, a measly group of men—boys, really, they were hardly any older than she, and some much younger, looked at her dismally. Hunger and desperation drove them to leave their marshlands and gather food outside their lands, but the will to live another day will bring them back alive.

“Come on,” she ordered, “We don’t have far to go now—If we run—”

“If we had _horses,”_ Drust interrupted, “We’d definitely get home in time.”

“If we stole the _horse lords_ ’ _horses,”_ Feidlimid retorted, “The horse-fuckers will _burn_ _down_ _all_ our villages.”

The unsavory nickname did not illicit any laughs, as it usually did, amongst her companions. “Hurry. Grab what you can, leave the rest.”

The boys glanced at each other, but did as she bid. They continued to run, and she only hoped that the Eorlingas did not have any hounds with them—or they truly would be dead in the water. “Quick!” she said, “The River is just up ahead!”

“Over half a mile!” panted Drest, twin brother of Drust. “We’ll never make it!”

She clenched her jaw, and pushed herself to run faster, shouting out a spell in their native tongue. It did no good—she was not a soothsayer, like her grandmother, nor had she inherited the gift, but it seemed to do the trick. The boys continued on, carrying and lugging their stolen goods.

She fell into step beside Drust. “Get them over the river,” she told them.

He nodded.

It took them a few minutes more to reach it, and then the boys were crossing, holding that which could not get wet above their heads. They had reached the shallowest part of the river, but they were safe now. Unless, of course, the riders decided to cross the river and punish them for trespassing and stealing.

She slowed to a halt, watching as her companions swam and waded across, lowing her sack of grain to the ground. She took steadying breaths, trying to calm her breathing. Her blood pounded in her ears, and her heart felt as though it were to leap from her throat. She felt the thundering of hooves. She was mistaken—they were close—a half notch closer than she had guessed. Shouts, and the baying of hounds, and she slowly turned around to face the incoming storm of horse, dog, man, and spear.

* * *

She let out a grunt of pain as a blunt end of a spear prodded her back, forcing her to stumble forwards, knocking her to her knees. She sat there, as a man dismounted and studied the sack of grain. “Looks like the rest made their way across,” the man told another in Rohirric—a young man whose face was concealed by the sun behind him and a helmet. “Should we pursue, My Lord?”

His _Lord._ Feid’s eyes widened, and she kept them downcast, as she planned what she was going to say.

“Not at the moment,” the young man answered, and Feid realized he _was_ young, but older than she, in any case.

“What about the boy?” she felt the spear prod her back again, and she fought the urge to turn and grab it.

They thought she was male. That was no surprise—she kept her hair shorn and her breasts bound, and her face and clothes were most likely too dirty and unlovely for them to believe she was female.

The leader of the Riders dismounted his horse and strode towards her. She watched through her eyelashes as his boots, made of leather finer than the her clan’s leader’s ceremonial bracers, stopped before her. “Look at me, boy,” the man ordered.

She wanted to turn her face upwards and stare him in the eye, but his order sparked anger in her, and so she kept her eyes downcast, refusing to look at him.

The man crouched, and grabbed her by the chin, forcing her head painfully up. She glared at him, too furious to appreciate his handsome features.

“Not very good looking,” the man said, letting go of her face and straightening. “But then again, a rabid dog never is.”

She spat at his boot, and sneered when it landed on the muddy leather.

Her victory was short lived. She bit back a cry as the toe end of his boot collided with her stomach, and she curled into a ball, waiting for more kicks, but none came.

“Tie him up,” the lord ordered, “He’ll walk back to Helms’ Deep.”

_Helms Deep,_ she thought, eyes widening, as she was hoisted to her feet and her arms bound. “Move,” the man behind her ordered, shoving her forcefully forward. She stumbled, and the man mounted his horse, tying the rope binding her to the horse’s saddle. She only hoped the horses would be _walking_ the remainder of the way.

_Helms Deep_ was farther than she had ever traveled. The Dunlendings were never allowed to leave their lands—doing so usually meant an execution. The Riders began to move, and Feid was tugged forward into a stumbling walk. Exhausted from her run—nearly seven miles she guessed—she did not know how long she would be able to keep up with horses. Helms Deep was far. So far she hardly could fathom the distance. Surely they would stop along the way. But why Helms Deep? Why not kill her now? It was unlike the Riders of the Riddermark to hold trial for her people when crimes were committed. Generally, her head would have hit the ground by now.

She walked until her eyes began to droop, and so she pinched her fingers, twisting them painfully to wake herself up. She did not fancy being dragged behind a horse.

It was around eight notches to sunset when the Riders slowed and began setting up camp.

“Sit,” the man who had held her rope pushed her to the ground. “Don’t try anything foolish.”

She glared at him as he began unsaddling his horse.

Her stomach growled, and she wondered if they would be traveling to the village that she and her brethren had raided. She hoped not.

The Riders set up fires and began cooking their evening meals, and they cheered and sang, loudly and boisterously, and she pondered if they brought drink with them, for they acted drunk in their jests.

“Boy!” her particular captor shouted, motioning for her to approach his fire.

The man’s lord, the head of their party, was sitting at that fire. She did not want to go near there—she did not fancy being called a rabid dog again, or ugly. So she sat where she was, staring pointedly into the darkness.

“I said, _Boy,”_ the man was suddenly at her side, grabbing her hands and pulling her to her feet, dragging her over. “You’ll be dead by the day after tomorrow if you don’t eat something.”

About to retort that she would be dead soon anyway, but realized that speaking might reveal her true gender. Perhaps they would be kinder to her if they knew—or perhaps not. But the sharp, grey eyes of the young lord stared at her in a condescending way, as if he found everything about her to be uncouth and uncivilized, and she remembered his words. Somehow, being thought of as an ugly _boy_ was better than an _ugly girl._ At least by a man who was so unforgivingly blessed with good looks.

She sat down, and glared as a bowl was pressed into her hands. Stew. Her stomach growled, and the man who had dragged her over laughed. “Eat, Boy,” he said. “Mata won’t be able to drag your weight all the way to Helms Deep.”

Mata must be his horse. She began eating, quickly, in case this was a trick and they took the bowl away before she finished.

“Easy there,” another man, across the flames, said, laughing as well.

She glared at him, too.

“What is your name, Boy?” the man sitting next to her asked.

She shook her head.

“Mute? My name is Aelfwig,” the man answered. “Tell me your name, Boy—unless you want to be just called ‘Boy’ while you trot behind Mata.”

She paused eating long enough to mutter “Feid.”

“Feid?” a man across the fire said. “What kind of name is that? How old are you Boy? Not a man yet, clearly.”

She ignored him, finishing the stew and shoving the bowl towards Aelfwig. He took it and put it in the stack of finished bowls. She was still hungry, but she was used to hunger, the feeling more natural to her than anything else. At the moment, she was thirsty. Why didn’t she drink water from the Isen before the Riders caught her?The Lord’s kick to her stomach did little to help. She knew she would have a mighty bruise there, if she didn’t already. Sitting, hunched over to hide the curve of her breasts that could not be concealed by bonds, her gut ached and protested, and she wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and wake up in her own bed in her own house. At least the others were able to make it home. She hoped.

“Getawaywithye,” Aelfwig said, shoving her out of the circle. “Haecca,” he snapped his fingers, and a hound sprang up. Aelfwig snapped his fingers again, pointing at Feid. The dog growled and crept towards her, hackles raised. She scurried away from him as fast as she could manage. “Don’t worry,” Aelfwig chuckled. “He won’t bite. Unless you try to run away.”

She scooted backwards a little bit more, but the dog crept towards her, before lying down on his stomach, head on his paws, watching her closely.

She sat there, watching the dog, as the men around her began to slowly fall asleep, only those on watch still awake. Eventually, she found exhaustion overwhelming her sense to protect herself—from the dog and the men around her—and she found herself lying on the ground, falling into a heavy and listless sleep.

* * *

She was awakened with a kick to her arm. She gasped, squeezing her eyes shut and grasping at the abused flesh, wincing and muttering curses under her breath. “ _Up_ , Boy,” Aelfwig said, nudging her more gently with his boot now, before returning to his horse.

She groaned, and opened her eyes. The men were saddling their horses. Mata was already saddled and waiting for her master. She felt a hard tug on her arms, dragging her forward a few inches, and she scrambled to her feet, stumbling forward as Mata began to walk with the rest of the riders, Aelfwig comfortably in her saddle.

They walked for hours. The horsemen laughed and sang and talked, and Feid kept her mouth shut. They taunted her, Aelfwig giving her rope a tug at times, making her stumble or fall, and it was not uncommon for a passing rider to deliver a well timed kick to her side or backside. At times she desired to tell them her true gender—in hopes that it would perhaps lesson their attacks and taunts. But she knew she was in less danger if they thought she was male. She did not think think their physical and verbal abuse would wane in they knew she was female—and she had no desire to be raped.

Her chest ached with the binding, her body from sleeping on hard ground and the blows of her captors, her stomach and head for lack of food or water—though that was no stranger to her. At times the men would offer her food and water, only to dump them onto the ground when she would reach for them, and because she was tied to Mata, she rarely got a chance to scoop the food from the ground, ignoring the jeers of those surrounding her as she hastily ate the soiled food.

She hated them. All of them. Just as her people had since the days when the Eorlingas came and were given her lands by the Far Southeners, forcing her people to the wetlands west of the Isen. If her wrists were not bound, and sore from the rope chaffing and cutting into her flesh, she would have fought against them—even if it _would_ have resulted in her immediate death.

But she kept her mind as calm as she could, and focused her energy on taking step after step, so as to not slow down to the point of being dragged by the horse.

She also desired a bath.

But that was far out of the question considering the circumstances.

That night Feid settled down onto a small patch of grass, but Aelfwig again ordered her to join him at his fire. Reluctantly, but willingly also, since she hoped food and water would be given to her, she sat down beside him. The men, as they always seemed to do, laughed boisterously and sang songs and told tales. She ate her dried meat and Meade without a word, until she heard someone say her name—her real name. Not ‘boy’, but Feid.

She looked up, her mouth full, her jaw aching from madly chewing the dried meat to soften it enough to swallow. She did so anyway, wincing as it went down hard and painful. “What?” she asked, and her voice cracked slightly, from lack of use and not enough water. Luckily, it made her seem like a young boy, just reaching the age of a man’s voice, and not a woman. The men chuckled to themselves, but Aelfwig grabbed her arm in a painful grip. “What is it, _Your Lordship,_ you mean, Boy,” he snarled. “Treat your betters with respect.”

She glared at him, and shrugged his hand off. “Don’t know who he is.”

A silence fell. After a few moments, the young lord spoke. “My name is Elfwine.”

Her eyes widened. _Elfwine._ The son of Éomer, King of the Horsemen. This… was the heir to the throne of the Riddermark—the future king.

And she had _spat_ on his _boot_.

She shrugged, making an ugly face, which earned her hard shove from Aelfwig. He cursed at her in _Rohirric,_ and said, “I say we kill him—there’s no point putting him on trial. If he’s freed and allowed to return he’ll only steal again.”

“They didn’t kill,” Elfwine said, returning his gaze to polishing his sword. “He goes on trial. Lord Erkenbrand will decide his fate.”

“At least let me cut off his hand,” Aelfwig muttered. “As a lesson.”

“Erkenbrand will decide,” Elfwine replied sharply, looking up to give Aelfwig a hard look. A silence fell, and Aelfwig nodded, his face coloring slightly. He made no protest to the prince’s command, and kept his eyes downcast for the rest of the evening.

Feid ate in silence, listening to the men talk. She was aware of Elfwine’s gaze—every now and then resting on her, but she did not believe she was in any immediate danger. So long as he mistook her for a boy. Though, if he considered her as ugly as he claimed, perhaps she _would_ be safe as a woman as well.

Finally, she was sent to a patch of dirt, where she curled into a ball, Haecca watching her carefully, and shivered herself to sleep.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…** _

**It’s kind of an unorthodox view on the Rohirrim. But I can’t really imagine them treating the Dunlendings well or fairly after what happened during the War of the Ring. But anyway, this is a sort of… star crossed lovers sort of story. But it’ll take a while to get there…**

**See you with Chapter 2 soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

She awoke early the next day the same as she had the day before; a sharp, booted kick—this time to her stomach. She gasped, coughed, and nearly emptied her stomach at the blow. She was hoisted to her feet, and Aelfwig shoved her forward.“Move, Boy,” he said.

She wondered briefly about disputing this—he knew her name, even if he chose not to use it. But him spitting insults and the word “ _boy,”_ at her every now and then protected her. It allowed her to slip under the protection of masculinity.

They traveled for much of the day, and Feid found that her stamina waned and waxed as the day of her trial approached.

Nightfall snuck in like a thief, and she curled into a ball on a patch of grass, and closed her eyes, slowing her breathing. She tried to heighten her senses, muttering spells to give her the powers of the night. It was fruitless as always.

When most of the riders and their hounds were asleep, save those that were posted on watch, she slowly sat up, gazing shrewdly at Haecca. The hound lifted his head, matching her gaze. Carefully, she gave a short, small, quiet whistle. Haecca’s ears perked, cocking his head. Her hands bound before her, she kept the dogs’ gaze as she worked on loosening the bindings on her wrist slightly so she had more mobility with her hands.

“Haecca,” she whispered, and the dog’s ears perked again. “Come.”

The dog stood, hesitating for a moment, before trotting over to her. He sat down a few feet from her, still gazing at her carefully. She held out her hand. In it, was a small piece of dried meat she had been given when the riders had set up camp and ate their evening meal. Haecca licked his chops, and walked the remainder of the way, snatching up the piece of meat. After he had quickly devoured it, she reached up and scratched behind his ear as he chewed, and he closed his eyes in appreciation. “Good boy,” she whispered.

She lay back down, closing her eyes, and feel asleep, Haecca curled by her side.

* * *

When the men started rising from their slumber, Feid woke as well, shooing Haecca away gently. curled back into a false sleep. When Aelfwig came to rouse her, he was none the wiser over the friendship that had formed that night. But Haecca walked by Feid’s side that day, and the next, for she gave him dried meat that next night as well, and the riders took notice of the dog’s friendliness towards her.

It was on the fifth day, that Elfwine brought his horse alongside her, matching their speeds. “Boy,” he said, and she stared ahead, ignoring him. He nudged her with his boot to gain her attention, but she shook him off.

Then Aelfwig turned in his saddle, grabbing the rope that led her like a stray dog and giving a hard tug. With a cry, she stumbled forward, hitting the ground hard, and felt a _crunch_ in the center of her face, then a throbbing pain. As she slowly rose to her knees, she felt something wet running into her mouth, and tasted iron, her ears ringing. Her nose had broken from the impact of the fall.

It was then that she knew that she would kill them all, but Aelfwig the most horribly.

She felt strong hands grasp her shoulders, hoisting her to her feet to stop her from being dragged by the rope and horse. Gasping, Aelfwig halted Mata, and many of the other riders slowed as well. “Lord!” Aelfwig said, his voice shocked.

Feid could see Elfwine’s face looking down into her’s, frowning. He then gave orders in Rohirric for a man to come and tend to the wound. Confused why he would do this, she was forced to sit as her face was bound to stall the bleeding. Her face was ill cleaned, the blood caking on her flesh and itching, and her nose was not set to its original structure, and she despaired at what it must look like _now_.

Elfwine watched this with a stern expression. She glared at him, focusing her anger on him and Aelfwig, fueling the fire that kept her from exclaiming in pain at the ungentle hands of the man aiding her.

When they were finished, Aelwig climbed into Mata’s saddle, but it was Elfwine who held her rope now. She walked alongside his horse, refusing to look at him. “Boy,” he said, at last, after many notches past noon had passed by.

She turned to glare at him, and wondered if she looked more pitiful to him with a disfigured face.

“Why did you stay by the river?” Elfwine continued on. “Why did you not flee across with your companions?”

She exhaled through her mouth. “You wanted a prize, did you not?” she asked, her voice raspy for lack of water. “Someone to punish?”

“You sacrificed yourself for your men?” Elfwine asked, a surprised look on his face. “I would not have expected such an honorable act from one of your people.”

She sneered, and winced at the pain the action brought to her. “I did not expect to live longer than it took you to reach us,” she said. “Letting me be tried is more honorable than I would have accounted for _your_ people.”

His eyes were focused on her, but he said nothing in reply.

“I expect it won’t be a fair trial,” she continued, softly. “My life to you is worth less than a sack of grain.”

Still, he said nothing, and turned his eyes forward. “We will reach Helms’ Deep by tomorrow,” he said. “Erkenbrand is a fair man. He will give you a fair trial.”

“By the laws of your land,” she answered. “Which do not love my people, only the land which was stolen from us.”

She watched him as she said this, and he quickly turned his head to look at her, brows furrowing in anger. “Aelfwig!” he said brusquely, tossing the handle of the rope to the other man, who took it gladly. Elfwine’s horse moved ahead, leaving her behind to Aelfwig’s keeping.

* * *

She opened her palm, and Haecca snatched up the piece of dried meat, chewing and swallowing quickly. She watched him, her stomach growling, almost begrudging the hound for eating her supper, when he had plentiful amounts of food given to him already. She scratched him behind the ears, and he panted happily. Then, she stood carefully, still patting him. He made no growl, or move to oppose her.

She looked around, and whispered under silent breath the spells her grandmother and mother would whisper into the night. Such things were long powerless, even to them, but they held power in the mind and spirit. “Come, Haecca,” she whispered, crouching low, and walking carefully and silently through the camp. The hound followed obediently, curiously, but when she reached the end of the campsite, he paused, whining softly.

She tried to hush him, but it was too late. She heard a shout as one of the night guards rose from his seat, looking around for the source of the noise.

She turned and fled, not caring that her feet created heavy footfalls on the ground. If she could only make it to the footfalls of the mountain—

She heard the sound of a horn being blown, and the baying of hounds, and the shouts from alarmed wakened men.

Some of the dogs were following her, by the orders of their masters, and by the thrill of a hunt. Gasping for air, her nose throbbing in pain, she ran as best she could towards the river, where perhaps the hounds would be thrown off of her scent. From there, she could make her way towards the mountain, which was short of a mile from the river.

Her breathing came in short, ragged gasps. Her heart thundered hard and painful in her chest, her legs ached, her nose and face throbbed.

She did not even make it halfway to the river before a hound caught her ankle in his jaws, tripping her. Growling, the dog shook her leg, until his master on horseback called for it to heel.

She cried shamelessly in pain, as hopelessness overcame her.

“Enough!” the man on horseback commanded. She did not recognize him. “Are you a man or no?”

She nearly screamed it at him—the truth. But she bit her tongue, and curled into a ball.

Other riders were approaching now, voices in the dark asking what had happened—what had sounded the alarm. When a torch was lit, and its light cast upon her, curled, sobbing into the dirt, they laughed, and the tension among them ceased.

“Up, Boy.” She felt hands grab her, but she wriggled out of them. She did not want the help of a Eorlinga. Especially not the help of their prince.

“Get him up,” Elfwine commanded tiredly to one of the men. “Get him back to camp.”

The man who had first caught up to her dismounted and walked toward her, grabbing her and hoisting her to her feet. Her foot stung as it touched the ground, but she was still able to walk with a limp. “Come on, Boy,” the man said, more gently then any other Rider had spoken to her so far, and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Wipe your tears. Tomorrow may not be the end.”

She shook her head, still sobbing like a child, but walked with him and his horse and hounds slowly back to the camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued…
> 
> Sorry for the long hiatus! Hoping to have chapter 2 up soon :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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